


printing euthanasia

by casmourde



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Attempted Murder, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Letters, Love Letters, Murder, Other, this is going to be my first multi chapter fic pog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26574919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casmourde/pseuds/casmourde
Summary: Letters written in red ink - typed on dusty typewriters, safely stored inside thick envelopes, sealed with lustful deceit, passed from blood stained hand to blood stained hand. A murder -fully discussed, planned, performed, and celebrated. Charlotte and Ted, of their own will, detail every moment of their lives in love letters, up until the day they finally live up to their words.
Relationships: Charlotte/Ted (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 22





	1. understanding hades

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚃𝚎𝚍.”

With a scowl, she hastily drew a line through her words with the ink pen nearest to her.

“D̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶T̶e̶d̶ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚃𝚎𝚍.”

She was typing on her favorite authentic typewriter, a turquoise one - one she owned before she was married. Using it reminded her of days far behind her.

“𝙸’𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞."

Charlotte twisted the hilt of the pen between her teeth, fingers hovering over the letters.

“𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎.”

Was that rude? That sounded rude. Every nerve in her body was on fire as she crossed that line out as well. This had to be perfect. Precise. The package couldn’t be too large, otherwise Sam would notice it in her purse. He liked to look through her purse.

And that man could not, under any circumstance, read this letter.

The back of her eyes ached looking at the amount of red already on the paper. She really couldn’t do anything without making mistakes, could she?

“𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 y̶o̶u̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶m̶u̶m̶b̶l̶e̶. 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎, 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚝. 𝚃𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏. 𝙸 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚆𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜. 𝙸𝚏 𝙸 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜.”

Charlotte unknowingly began to chew at the pen, leaving teeth marks across its surface. The force of her teeth was much stronger than it used to be a week before. A full week of using them as scissors for ribbon must have stiffened her jaw.

With a deep breath in and out of her nose, Charlotte poised her shaking, boney fingers over the next letters that she knew she had to type. Words she had been avoiding speaking into existence for seven full days. Seven days of furrowed brows, of hiding from Sam when he came home, of hiding from Ted when he came to her side of CCRP Technical.

“𝙸 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚞𝚙 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛.”

She paused. Sunlight caught delicately on the envelope to her right. The candle she had lit had gone out a long time ago, but the remnants of chrysanthemum still floated on the soft breeze coming from the open window.  
Steeling herself, she glanced around the apartment. No one was home. She hadn’t gotten a call from Sam yet, the inevitable “working late” call. The empty bed for a cat she was never allowed to get was still clean. Untouched by everything but light.

If someone who had never met Charlotte, someone who had never heard her woes, walked into the room at that very moment, they wouldn’t even know of Sam’s existence. They wouldn’t even find a single clue that he, or anyone else in her life, existed. Sitting at the kitchen table with a dusty typewriter and her sealing supplies, she realized this was the first and last time her life would look like this; peaceful and clean. Uncorrupted.

Sharply, she put her digit down on a button. Then another, on a different one. The sounds filled the otherwise silent earth.

Even if nothing would ever be simple again, Charlotte was willing to take the risk.

“𝚆𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(1)


	2. rules and regicide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted replies. He isn't fully prepared for anything. Nothing at all. But he asked already, and she agreed already. It was too late to turn back. Otherwise he'd always imagine what life could be like without constant fear.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎.”

Every tap on the keys caused Ted to flinch but he found it impossible to slow down. His beloved’s previous letter had kissed him just the correct way.

“𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝙸 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚋𝚘𝚗.”

With every letter passed between them, behind backs, during hugs, inside desk drawers, the pounding in Ted’s head grew louder and louder. It wasn’t entirely painful, he noticed, but it still caused some annoyance. The words typed on the parchment were drugs to him, in a way - afterward, he was so nervous he had to douse his entire body in cold water until he was moments away from being waterlogged.

He could barely see the typewriter in the darkness, his only source of light being the neon of a sign below his apartment pouring onto his floor from the window. The harsh pink hit the veins on his fingers like blood, detailing every curve and crevice as he squinted at the paper and ink.

“𝙼𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚊 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸’𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚜𝚔. 𝙸 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝, 𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛.”

Fidgeting with his watch, Ted glanced out the window. He could hear every car that passed for miles, but didn’t bother to close the shutters; he found the noise gave him clarity. Reminded him he wasn’t the only person in the world.

“𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍. 𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝. 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚗’𝚝.”

God, he sounded pathetic.

“𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚎? 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖.”

He didn’t have anyone to hide them from, but Charlotte did. With a bite of his nail, Ted closed his eyes. Clarity. Clarity. Find clarity in the dull hum.

Don’t worry about Charlotte. She could handle herself. That’s the reason he came to her with this in the first place, wasn’t it?

Ted could tell himself to stop worrying all he wanted, but there was always worry. An itch he couldn’t scratch. A cat purring at his ankles, begging for attention he would always give it.

Both of their lives were broken beyond repair, but Charlotte had it under wraps. Looking at her, you’d just assume she had anxiety or trouble speaking. Ted was a mess, outward and inward. He barely showered, his floor was littered with wrappers and clothes and stains, and he had no one to help him clean it. He had no one to help him clean anything.

Sam didn’t help Charlotte, but when he was around, people assumed things were okay. Charlotte had everything to live for, and Ted had nothing. 

Ted had everything to die for.

Was he being too pushy? Demanding? He didn’t care very much most of the time, but with Charlotte, with Lottie, he noticed how careful he was.

What was he, in love?

“𝙱𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖. 𝙺𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚜. 𝚆𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖.”

Look at him, preaching about saving the trees whilst simultaneously plotting to kill a man.

“𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎.”

Those two words, those eight letters, held more importance than anything he had ever said to Charlotte. If he couldn’t say everything in his mind, he would at least keep her alive long enough to tell her about it later.

“𝙸’𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢.”

He had a feeling he’d be saying that a lot.

Almost violently, he ripped the inked paper out of the coral typewriter and folded it. With a lick, a drop of cypress cologne, and his favorite name written on the front, it was ready.

Maybe through sealing letters, the two of them could seal everything else fucked up about them.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ted be like: i dont know how to use a typewriter but i will because aesthetic


	3. stalling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two perpetrators meet in a bathroom stall, a place very befitting for discussions about murder.

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That morning was pure torture. 

Every ring of a distant phone made Charlotte shake in her chair. Every shadow cast onto the walls of her cubicle looked, somehow, just like him. CCRP Technical was populated by a hundred Ted Spankoffskis, all in disguise, all ready to pounce on her at any given moment.

The general buzz of an office space brought her no solace. She was almost 100% sure that every eye on her could see directly through her to the inside of her purse, where at least a dozen letters were stored. 

All untouched. All kept far away from a fire.

Charlotte knew he wouldn’t hate her for it. She tried to tell herself that if he was alright with murder, he was alright with her keeping the words a little bit longer, but there was an incessant voice at the back of her head that was convinced she was in trouble.

Just as a door slammed and a person sighed from across the room, Charlotte’s stomach flipped inside out. She knew it was him coming from the other department to chastise her for her disobedience. 

She could smell him before she saw him - alcohol. His arms rested on the top of her cubicle. 

“Hey.”

It was soft. That only worsened her nerves. Her pulse quickened as she suddenly became very engrossed in her work. If she looked at him, she would feel it again, and she refused to feel anymore.

“Can you give these to Melissa?”

Charlotte began to blink at rapid speeds. “Huh?” It was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

“These. Can you give them to Melissa?” After a moment of silence, he quietly added, “Please.”

Cursing herself, she broke her focus on the computer screen and shifted to Ted. It was him, that much was obvious, but it was a different him this time. She couldn’t really name this version of him. It wasn’t Angry Ted, it wasn’t Drunk Ted, and it certainly wasn’t Horny Ted. Her inability to pinpoint why he looked so nervous turned her legs to jelly.

Suddenly, she noticed he was reaching towards her with something in his hand. She silently took the papers, attempting to flatten the creases with her palm. Melissa?

“Why can’t you give them to Melissa?” she thought aloud, barely reading the print. A twitch of anger coursed through her as Ted’s eyes shifted around her instead of directly at her.

It should have been obvious to Charlotte at this point that something was going on, but the shock of seeing Ted so early in the day had blown her fuses.

“She hates me.”

Despite herself, Charlotte’s lips curved anxiously into a smile. She eyed the papers, and after one word registered in her mind, sharply turned to ask Ted what the hell it meant, but he was gone, the stench of beer just a faint memory.

“Shit.” Her heart rate spiked. She tugged on her sweater for support and looked through the tears forming in her eyes at the letter, which was addressed to a person called “Dearest”.

“𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝,

𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝙸’𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙸’𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜. 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜. 𝙸’𝚖 𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚍.

𝙼𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖.

𝙸’𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢.

𝙿.𝚂. 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢.”

Charlotte scowled so deeply and quickly that she would be surprised if her skull didn’t crack at least a little. Violent, unbridled rage seared through every inch of her. If someone looked over in her direction, they’d see a desk on fire.

Melissa!? Ted couldn’t give her this garbage by himself? He needed a wingwoman to give a poor girl a heart attack for him?

The door opened again, and Charlotte already knew who it was. Glaring from behind her wall, she watched Melissa cross the room and knock lightly on Paul’s cubicle. Who did she think she was, really? 

All in the span of a minute, Charlotte’s opinions on Melissa went from positive to downright vicious. Of course Melissa would wear a short skirt today, just to attract his attention. Of course Melissa would laugh and tuck her hair behind her ear, just to seem flirty. Of course Melissa would wear the most obnoxious pink suit ja-

Suit jacket?

Charlotte raised her head, straining her neck, and stared at the secretary for an unhealthily long time. She wasn’t imagining it. Melissa wasn’t even wearing a sweater, she was wearing a tweed suit jacket. There wasn’t a sweater underneath it, either - there was a white button-up.

Her ears burned and she sat back down in her chair. Charlotte felt like she was going to vomit. So much embarrassment was piling on top of her, suffocating her to the point of a red face and numb fingers.

Of fucking course it wasn’t for Melissa. Only one person at the damn place wore a sweater every single day, and Melissa wouldn’t be caught dead in the shade of brown Charlotte had on.

With a twisting stomach and fiery nerves, Charlotte folded the papers and set off toward the bathroom.

\---

He had never been in a girl’s bathroom before.

It really wasn’t any different. He hadn’t expected it to be, but Bill was a firm believer in the “fact” that every single one had a couch.

If only there was a couch, Ted thought, bouncing up and down gently on his heels inside the stall farthest from the door. Maybe facing her would be easier.

Speak of the devil - he heard the door slowly creak open with a hesitation that could only be from Charlotte. Her flats delicately flitted across the tile toward the only closed stall.

“Ted?”

She sounded so scared. 

Ted hastily undid the lock and allowed his hiding place to be revealed. There she was, stepping into the stall and latching it behind her. Her face was gaunt and slick with sweat, and she was wringing her hands together at her front.

Awkwardly, Ted scrambled onto the toilet and crouched atop the seat so he could remain somewhat hidden and still be able to look Charlotte in the eyes. She didn’t say a word. She barely even moved.

“You got my note?” He immediately flinched at how hoarse his voice was.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice barely louder than silence.

“I meant what I said in it. I’m ready. I just…” His eyes swept over her trembling frame. “I wanted to make sure you were.”

Charlotte hid her hands in her sleeves and nodded.

“Yeah?”

She didn’t answer. She just kept nodding like it meant anything to either of them.

“Here. Can I see your hands?”

Not a single noise could be heard as Charlotte rolled up her sleeves and meekly put her clammy hands atop Ted’s.

He closed his eyes for a second. It almost looked like he was praying.

“You’re scared.”

It wasn’t a question. Even though Charlotte knew that, she still answered with a single dip of her head. It was obvious that she was. One look at her and you could see the doubt crawling all over her like spiders.

“I am too, it’s okay.” Ted brought her hands closer to him, resting his forehead on her knuckles. A very familiar smell coated her skin.

“Are we… Are we sure?”

He barely understood what she had said; he was too busy trying to identify the hand lotion she had on. “Hm?”

“Can we really… really… can we really…” She didn’t want to say it; if she did, that would mean it was all real.

Before Charlotte could completely shut down, Ted finally realized why the smell was so normal to him - it was cypress cologne.

He sharply wrapped his fingers around her hands and leaned forward, his nose almost touching hers. “Can I kiss you?”

Charlotte’s eyes widened and very quickly overflowed with tears. Another nod.  
And so he did. Pathetically crouching over a toilet bowl, shoes slipping over the edges, he put a hand to the back of her head and did exactly what he asked. Her tears latched onto him until he looked like he was crying himself. Their lips were smeared with Charlotte’s lipstick and salt.

She hadn’t grabbed him. Her hands hovered in the air in the same position they had been after Ted let go.

“Oh, Ted…” she mumbled after he pulled away, hand still in her hair. She fumbled with his tie absentmindedly. Tears and shame made her face a dark maroon. “What are we going to do?”

Charlotte noticed a smudge of pomegranate red on the material of his shirt. She thumbed at it, and the moment she felt the texture, she realized it was wax.

Ted grabbed the hand that was on the mark and brought it to his lips gingerly. His smile afterwards was wicked. His canines shone underneath the lights above. It was pure evil.

“Murder.”

Charlotte kissed him this time.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah this was a doozy :) anyway ive noticed i update once a month but the dates are always one day later or the same day as before and i think thats funny because i didnt even plan it . i surprise myself sometimes


	4. arsonist's lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte finally burns those letters. Just in case.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night was one of the coldest Hatchetfield had seen in a long time. A woman sitting in a chair next to a fire wouldn’t be an unusual sight. If you looked closer, the portrait might begin to warp into something far more macabre, but her vibrating pupils and sweat-lined wrinkles were impossible to see from anywhere but directly in front of her - and directly in front of her was a rising flame.

No one in their right mind would sit in that just to catch a glimpse of her terrifying state.

With the grace and presence of a sugar high preschooler, she opened the purse in her lap and began tearing through its contents. The small tears dancing across her skin were the only indicators that she was remorseful at all for this intrusion.

Her fingers hit cold and she unceremoniously hoisted at least twenty open envelopes into the air. She held them there, raised slightly to the heavens, as if waiting for them to catch their breath. Once she deemed them ready enough, she slowly dropped them into her lap, staring at the way they scattered across her blanket like autumn leaves.

Every one of them held a story. The word on the front was always scrawled in a different color, and some weren’t addressed to anyone, but she knew they all belonged to her. The smell was a clue enough, heavy and rancid and tinged with whiskey. She held one and wondered how she could find so much comfort in such an awful stench.

She glanced at the phone. If lady luck was on her side, no noise would come from it tonight. For a rare time in her wretched matrimony, she was thankful for whatever woman was keeping him company.

The first letter she decided upon was light and noticeably more worn. The envelope was covered in dark spots, remnants of tears. There was no addressee, no return address, and no greeting. It was a single word, written instead of typed, one that caused iron to bubble up in her throat when she read it.

"ʏᴇꜱ."

It was first to go. No sentimental value could be found within that word, and none could be seen welling up in her eyes. Smoke rose like wicked fingers from the flames. The paper cracked and crumpled like flesh upon the log.

Her thin fingers quickly snapped away from the heat and onto the armrests of her chair. For what felt like years, she read the words, deemed them insignificant, and rid of them forever. And forever. And forever. The words rattled in her skull, knocking at the eyesockets and gnawing at teeth.

These were memories that were meant to be forgotten the moment she made them.

Would she be able to forget ones that had yet to be made? Would she be able to walk away, pretend she never watched her husband drop like a dead weight into a frozen lake, and still be Charlotte?

As a particularly lengthy letter was becoming ash, she shook her head vigorously. “Charlotte” didn’t exist anymore - that was eliminated once the typewriter was dusted off. It was too dangerous to try and preserve the essence of a woman who had once considered murder.

New Charlotte flicked another into the fire. She watched with dead eyes the flames as they grumbled and moaned, tearing apart their new prey. The sharp shadow of her and a chair hit the floorboards silently. It stretched over the walls and onto the ceiling; the closer it got to the chimney, the weaker it appeared. This cloak, fashioned of flickering raven wing, rushed over the photos on the wall to hide them from curious eyes, eyes that might see something wrong with the young girl in her white dress.

Her pile was smaller now, barely noticeable from between the folds of her blanket. The words lay heavy on her thighs. These were the ones that counted, the ones that she had memorized.

The ones she didn’t want to get rid of.

The dull hum of cars passing by, their tires destroying snow, caused her heart to flutter. She held one letter tightly, pressing it deeply into the crook of her elbow until it hurt. Two corners of parchment slid across the pads of her fingers like knives as she unfolded it.

“𝙸’𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎.”

Bile was already rising in her throat.

“𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎.”

Every line of crooked letters swam in front of her, wobbling and shaking like they were about to explode.

“𝙸’𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢.”

Apologies meant nothing. Too many had been said for them to be perceived as anything but white noise. Most from Charlotte were precautions more than anything, and she still wasn’t positive that Ted could define remorse, let alone feel it.

Finally, the tears became overwhelming, and Charlotte dipped her face into her sleeve. Being capable of grief at all was a good sign, she realized. Sniffles and small sobs filled the empty room.

“𝙸’𝚖 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎.” 

She almost vomited.

Did she? Could she even do that? A woman so feeble and insecure that she had to resort to murder to solve her problems could never do something as confident as trusting.

It was getting harder to read the more watery her eyes got and the smaller the flames became. 

“𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎-”

She threw it into the fireplace without a second thought.

White hot rage pierced her skin with its gnarled claws. Spit flew from her mouth as she let out a pained shout and rushed to the fireplace. Wincing at her palms hitting stone, she let the remaining papers tumble into the smoke, never to be spoken of again. Tears sizzled on the burnt wood, trailing down onto the curling parchment.

Be sober. Hands shaking like cobblestone under horse hooves, she ran fingers through her hair. Sweat slicked across her forehead and down her nose. Sober meant no more accidents, no more kisses and giggles. 

It was time to be serious for once in her goddamn life. She repeated that over and over, aimlessly stomping to the kitchen and slumping her body over the counter. Her knees buckled, and she found herself on the floor suddenly, head in her hands and knees aching.

Fuck. She needed wine.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i used a hozier song for the title xx <3

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! this will be my first multi-chapter fic. i hope u liked it lol,,, please comment if u wanna!!!! pog


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